


What Seems To Be

by LazyWriterGirl



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst is My Aesthetic, Breakup, F/F, I'm Sorry, My Attempt At Inducing Feels, One Shot, no happy endings here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 17:24:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8498761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyWriterGirl/pseuds/LazyWriterGirl
Summary: “You can’t fix it if it doesn’t exist, Tharja. There isn’t any us.” People change. People lie. People make mistakes. Sometimes, even the comfort that follows a fall can do nothing but remind a person of just how much they've lost. And, as Robin has only just begun to learn, what starts out looking like a good idea can sometimes end in bitter tears. Can be read either as a stand-alone or as the "bad end" to Across Your Lifetimes.





	

“You can’t do this.” It hurts, hearing Tharja tell her that she can’t… can’t love her, can’t be with her, can’t do that, _can’t do this_. It hurts, but this is Robin’s life too, and she answers to herself, not to Tharja. Not anymore.

Her phone rings, but that’s not important at the moment.

“I don’t really think that you’re in a position to tell me what I can and cannot do, Tharja Noirgan. After all, you were the one who lied to me.”

“Why are you being so hurtful?” She’s crying, by the sounds of it, and it’s the type of crying that Robin knows hurts the chest to execute. It’s real. It’s raw. It’s painful and that is why she does not turn to look.

This is something that Tharja has reserved entirely for her, she knows. The desperate, heaving gasps and shuddering breaths; that’s practically patented Tharja-guilting-Robin-into-apologizing. Robin knows that it may seem that she is a heartless monster, but she would be lying if she said she does not slightly savour the sounds of Tharja’s crying echoing throughout the forest trail. A few months ago, she may have been swayed into compassion by Tharja’s display, but now… now she feels nothing.

“You hurt me first, Tharja, never forget that,” she say, and though it sounds childish, her words hold the inescapable ring of truth. Tharja has hurt her so many times now, lied and cheated and expected not to be called out on her mistakes, and all that Robin can do now is cut ties and move on.

And she’s been succeeding to do just that; to move on and fill the spot Tharja has left in her affections.

“Why her? _Why?_ You know that everybody says that you’re just using her because you _know_ how I’ve always felt about the two of you. You can’t do this, Robin,” she repeats, “You can’t do this to her, or to yourself, and especially not to me. Robin. Please.”  Robin is too lost in the blistering cold of her building anger to acknowledge the warmth that spreads through her soul whenever Tharja says her name.

“Don’t you _dare_ , Tharja. Don’t you dare make the mistake of insulting her in front of me. She has done so much more for me than simply replace you; and that is the truth no matter what anyone else might say. She surpasses even you.” She wonders briefly if Tharja can tell that she’s a liar; nobody could ever surpass Tharja in her eyes. Still, the words have their desired effect and Tharja is looking at Robin like it’s the end of the world. Her eyes—that strange shade of periwinkle blue that doesn’t feel entirely human—are rimmed red and puffy at the corners.

Something in her breaks just a little, because Tharja is one of the most stunning women she has ever known and to see her looking so tragic is…breathtaking.

Tharja’s eyebrows draw together slowly and Robin knows that she has seen through the lie. The other woman shakes her head furiously at the realization, black hair tumbling around her shoulders like a cowl. “You are a _liar_ , Robin. We both know that you love me, not her,” she says, and she sounds so cocky that Robin, being ever the spiteful, vindictive harpy that she sometimes can be, aims to take her down a peg.

“You can say that all that you want, Tharja, but the fact is, is that after we’re done here I’m going to get into my car, where she’s waiting for me. I’m going to drive home with her, and then we’re going to talk about this. How you and I are completely, utterly over.

“And then I’m going to sleep with her, but I’m not going to fuck her. I’m going to _make love_ to her, and the best part about that is that I’ll be doing it with her and not with you.” Robin laughs, and it comes out much more harshly than she’d anticipated but she doesn’t care. She tells herself that she doesn’t care. There is no turning back now; she has turned the page on their chapter, and all that Tharja can do now is find her own way through it.

Robin’s phone rings again.

She ignores it.

“You don’t mean that, Robin. You may drive home with her, and tell her that it’s her you love, but you’ll _fuck_ her and think of me.” Robin doesn’t know why Tharja’s certainty is so frustrating, but she cannot bring herself to back down from this challenge that she feels has been issued to her.

“You give too much credit to yourself and too little to her,” she says simply, grabbing for the strap of her backpack. “Goodbye, Tharja.”

She walks slowly through the trail that leads back to the parking lot. Everyone will know what she’s done soon enough; there is no escaping it. Doubtless there will be phone calls and texts and midnight appearances at her new apartment, but she doesn’t need to answer them, she doesn’t need to see anybody. Off-buttons and locks are beautiful things.

Robin is mildly surprised when a light hand latches on to her own. She holds her breath, not knowing what it is that’s holding her back. She could shake Tharja off if she wanted to. She could leave right now, run so fast that Tharja would never be able to catch up to her—to lie to her and hurt her—again.

“Don’t go. Robin, we can fix this. Look, I’m sorry, okay, but you know sometimes I get a little carried away and—

“No, Tharja, this was your last chance and you blew it. You _knew_ you couldn’t afford to fuck up again but you did and you did it for...what? You don’t even know why!” Robin holds back the scream that she’s wanted to release ever since this whole thing started getting out of hand. She’d promised herself that she would play things cool, all passive aggression and cuttingly vicious words, but something about Tharja never allows her to act the way she wants to.

“You’re just going to throw everything away then?” Her eyes are dangerously close to spilling over, but Tharja must be using every ounce of her dramatic flair to keep that from happening; the tears are practically gravity-defiant, held suspended in Tharja’s eyes as if waiting for their cues to fall.

“I don’t need to do anything; you took care of this all your own, didn’t you?”

“It was a mistake! Don’t pretend that you’re perfect, Robin! Let me fix this,” she says. “Let me fix us.”

“You can’t fix it if it doesn’t exist, Tharja. There isn’t any us.” That’s when Tharja’s resolve cracks and breaks away, and her tears begin to make little sounds as they hit the cold, hard cement of the walkway. Robin knows that this is when she must make her final exit and yet she knows as soon as her feet begin to carry her away...She knows that she is making a mistake.

Still, she is Robin Grimm and she has made her choice. She will stand by it, no matter what. Tharja doesn’t follow her, probably realizing that there is no way to solve this problem. They both knew that this was coming; it just took far too long to realize that the lies they were living were bound to destroy them. And now they have.

 

She manages to keep everything together as she slide into the driver’s seat of her car, turning to the redhead beside her.

“Is everything alright, Robin?” Her voice is oddly soft. Robin forces a nod, putting the car in gear and preparing to drive off. She feels a soft hand cover her own and marvels at how different it feels from Tharja’s. “May I turn on the radio?”

“Of course,” she says, because it’s such a simple request that she cannot see any reason to refuse. Slim fingers work the various buttons and knobs for the perfect station and volume, and when that’s done, Robin hears the beautiful strains of music from both the radio and her companion’s throat.

Her voice is different from Tharja’s; technically better, smoother, perfectly in pitch with the song as it plays, but lacking in a certain rawness, a certain unsure spontaneity. A certain sense of mystery. It’s a different kind of special, Robin decides, just not the kind of special that she’s sure she can grow to love the same way as she has loved Tharja.

This goes on for a good ten minutes, her companion not losing interest in the radio and in Robin, who is struggling to keep her eyes clear and on the road. She figures she must not be doing a very good job, because soon enough the redhead’s voice, now firm, tells her to pull over. Robin does as she says, bracing herself because she knows what’s coming.

“Please, Robin, let me drive.” Robin looks at her, and her stunning red eyes are so understanding, so very hurt – and she does have a right to feel such hurt, Robin knows, as it was all her fault, hers and Tharja’s, to begin with – and Robin knows that she can no longer hold onto her strength alone.

 

The tears are damning, shamefully strong in the way that they escape from her eyes; uncontrollable.

           

The redhead is quick to unbuckle her seatbelt and Robin’s, holding the white-haired woman as close as the configuration of the car will allow. Her perfume, sweet and light and perfect for all occasions, is so very different from Tharja’s heavier, more dramatic scent. Robin misses the familiar decadence of it, misses how some days it would smell so thick that it was as if Tharja was trying to choke her with luxury. She misses Tharja desperately already, but she has made her choice and to turn back now would just be… pathetic.

Pathetic, and unfair to the woman who has stood by her side through the storm that has only now begun to release Robin’s life from its grasp.

“We just…we seemed like a good idea.” Robin hates this feeling, hates having to rationalize it; hates how she’s doing this in front of the woman who loves her unconditionally. It’s obvious, it has to be, that she will never be able to reciprocate emotion in the way that the redhead deserves.

“I know, Robin. Nobody is to blame; nobody could have known what would happen this far down the road. We all thought…” she trails off, and Robin is thankful. She doesn’t deserve this woman. She doesn’t deserve anything.

“She wanted me to be strong for both of us but I couldn’t…but we just…” Robin is trying to find words to supplement her thoughts but the only things she can think to say are simple. They wouldn’t be adequate to capture the message. Instead, she cries into soft blood-red hair, feeling those same striking eyes attempt to soothe her with their sweetness.

“Shh…you seemed like a good idea. You needn’t say more. I understand, Robin.” She doesn’t say it, but Robin knows that she worries the same for them—they too, seem like a good idea. A better idea than Tharja and Robin had seemed to be. But if something like this could happen after all this time…nothing is a guarantee.

 

They sit there a while longer as the redhead coos softly, the perfect words of comfort floating down in her soft voice; and all that Robin can do is cry, the words running rings around her tongue so many times that it sounds like a mantra.

“We seemed like a good idea.”

 

 

 

And Cordelia only sighs and nods and pulls her all the more closely because she understands, and Robin is ashamed of herself anew.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry, I don't know what this is...lies. I do know what this is. It was originally a Glee fic I posted to fanfiction.net, but I took the whole account down and stumbled upon it in a folder of completed works and thought I'd rework it for these sad nerds. Just because.
> 
> Feel free to send me some vibes [](https://lazywritergirl.tumblr.com>%20on%20Tumblr%20</a>.%20I%20feed%20on%20your%20praise,%20on%20your%20sadness,%20on%20your%20anger,%20on%20your%20<em>feels</em>.%0A%0ABut%20also%20I%20just%20like%20talking%20to%20cool%20people.)


End file.
